And suddenly..

 I’ve been writing again!! Suddenly my boys are both big enough and now it’s like I have my life back. The first few books I wrote at night. I perilously typed away at the wee hours while they slept. It was the only time I had back then. So I pulled all nighters and existed on a very small amount of sleep. 

Sometimes I wonder if all that late night writing messed up my sleep patterns for good. I still struggle with insomnia, but they don’t need me as much anymore they’re both teenagers. And now just like that simple snapping of fingers I have time. 

It’s weird how quiet my house is now. The screaming and fights have calmed down. They don’t come running to me for everything under the sun and while I’m sad, a bigger part of me is grateful. Moms give so much of themselves to their kids that having a little piece back feels utterly amazing. 

I’ve already written out a plot and have a few chapters typed out and even more written down in a notebook. I’m putting a big chunk of my single mom life into this story. It’s a romance and it’s something that’s brewed inside me for a long time. They say we work out old hurts with our writing. 

I feel an old wound closing as we speak. The good and the bad finally on the paper. There’s this strange sense of relief. Like I’m exhaling that breath I’ve been holding for the first time. Also I should note all of my best single stories of the past were beyond crazy. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that I lived through some of the crap I did. 

So I’ll go back to writing and hopefully finish all those stories I promised myself that I’d write. 

You come to me in Dreams

When all is dark and quiet, you come to me in dreams,

You pull me close and call my name as my body draws you in,

We climb that high off mountain, our bodies play the game,

We come apart and come together again, and again, and again, 

I wish I didn’t miss you, I don’t even know who you are, 

The years have flown and we’ve both grown further and further apart, 

It’s strange how things can be so different, 

Loves have come and gone, but deep inside the recesses of my mind you live for me in the dark,

I don’t want to miss you, my heart has clearly moved on,

But still I find myself resigned against the dreams you occupy until dawn.

What is it about you that still has a hold of me,

The slip and slide, the groans and cries, the whimpers of passion and glee,

My husband still fulfills me takes and gives as I need,

But somehow when the lights go out it’s you I find between my knees when the world and I are fast asleep. 

Viscous

I wrote this way back and it was somehow never published. Read with caution I was pissed.

A thousand voices,
typing, the click clicking of the keys drowns out the morality, drowns out the inner voice that screams out STOP,
a mob of ugly putrid opinions, pointing fingers, stones in hands ready to fling, but instead you use words,
slut, whore, tease, bitch, slut, prostitute, you wanted to be raped, you changed your mind, tease, slut whore, bitch,
you fling your stones with quiet abandon, you wrap your words with hate as you hide behind your screens,
shame on you,
shame on me,
shame on us all for letting our daughters grow up in a world that believes that what makes them worthy is between their legs,
that their voices, their words don't matter, that everything means yes, short skirt...yes, a smile yes, accepting a drink...yes, no...yes, NO...Yes...NO PLEASE STOP....YES ABSOLUTELY YES,
because why would we ever say no to you wonderful, powerful men,
we always mean yes because we are empty headed walking vaginas made exclusively for your pleasure,
how dare we say NO, how dare we even think it when our short skirts, and flirty behavior, and drunk maybe blacked out faces scream yes even when we scream NO,
protect our boys who take without asking from the worthless whores, from the teases who mean yes,
protect our boys from the six years of prison for only "twenty minutes of action",
protect our boys from the sluts and teases who change their minds,
protect our boys from just being boys, from being unable to control themselves because she dared to wear a short skirt,
she is an object,
she is a thing,
she is not a person,
there is no equality,
it is an illusion,
we are still objects,
and every time a boy gets a slap on the hand after raping a girl we prove once again that women, girls are still objects made strictly for your pleasure,
that we are not worthy,
that we are not worth the time it would take out of his life, that he is worth more because he has a penis.


Lately, everywhere I look there is an injustice against women. Girls being hounded or called sluts or threatened with rape for having a voice. Girls who cry rape who are called liars. Who are called names that are so bad I can't believe grown men would actually say it let alone scream it from the streets. I'm thankful I have sons. I'm terrified they will grow up to be one of these men. Men that see hard evidence of an assault and because the boy is rich, good looking and has a future let them go with a slap on the hand.
What about her future. What about the nightmares and years of therapy she will endure because of her pain.
If she were a child, would you look away so easily.
Pedophiles are the worst most deplorable human beings, but a college boy who rapes a girl only made a mistake or she was a tease.
What if she were younger.
You would not be so quick to look away, to call her names and pat him on the back. If she were younger you would grab your pickets and pitchforks, your torches and whips and walk the streets to hang the man that dare defile a child.
If she were a virgin would it make a difference?
Would you care more if that rape, was her first time?
Would if matter what color her skin was?
Would it matter if she were a boy?
It shouldn't matter.
He should pay.
He should be the one hounded and called names.
HE should be the one that is punished.

What Dreams?

I haven’t checked in here in years. I’m not sure why or how time gets away from us. You wake you blink and five damn years have gone by….

I’m not one for excuses but I guess life just happens. And somehow in that happening things that were oh so important fall away and you just keep living. 

It’s strange and unnerving and beautiful in its own wild way. Life when you’re living it. 

In the end I’m glad I found my way back here because even if not one soul reads the nonsense that occupies my brain I’ll have written it. Bled it all out on the pages like I’ve done and will do again when time and life let me. 

Lately I’ve been having those insane dreams again. You know the ones…hot writhing bodies, connecting, separating, coming together in that awesome dance as old as time. Those dreams are very effective in making me hate sleep. Because it’s not always my dear husband staring in the sweaty tangled sheets no it seems to always be that one damn ex that you don’t want to remember. 

What I find utterly annoying is this wasn’t even a proper ex. Not really anyway he is what I like to refer to as a fuck buddy. A friend with benefits and no strings except that I was the only person in his bed while we played our sweaty little games. I’m not sure if he ever followed that rule as closely as I did. God knows people lie. But I like to think he was honest and our on again off again time was unstained by all that is in human nature to lie.

So back to the problem…the damn dreams. They are not often, I wouldn’t even say monthly maybe a handful of times a year and dear reader they are always always always HIM. Now let’s not say my hubby is lacking in this department the man can make my legs shake in quite a wonderful way. We are highly compatible in the bedroom. 

But HIM, the nameless albeit not faceless turquoise eyed asshole of my damn dreams was also very gifted. My mom recently told me about a show that she watched called Sex/Life. She shared because the sex was hot and women share things like shows movies or even books with hot sex.

Well that show rang a bell I didn’t want rung. Not my lack of a husband who was interested in getting busy. Or even the urge to find closure or good sex. It just reminded me of my Gosh Darn dreams about a man I haven’t talked to in a thousand years who still occupies my hottest dreams. 

I wonder, if the show had a point though. We look back at the things we did when we were wild and untethered to the heavy burdens of adult life. Like say motherhood or being a wife.

I was a mother even then and he was so not interested in dating because of it. And somehow I put up with this bullshit behavior because of sex and friendship and something he had that I could never ever define even now.

I don’t know what it is I wanted in him or what I was so attracted to. I had men who I wanted and couldn’t have, that happened, I was not immune to rejection, and this wasn’t it. It wasn’t anything I can find words for,  it was just there this yearning, this need, this crazy insane attraction. 

Once while at work (we did work together for years) I remember rounding a corner and he was there. We’d already slept together quite a few times but he had moved away and there I was seeing him for the first time in a while. I followed his body with my gaze and wound up slamming into the side of a cubicle that’s how enamored I was. 

Body slamming the side of a cubicle.

Witness to this utter embarrassment was another work colleague who laugh snorted all the way back to our own side of the office. 

What is it about the past that’s so intoxicating. Does the memory grow warmer with time or does the ugly parts just fade away? I know why it never worked out in the end. I know what made me put a final stop to it, but damn if I didn’t keep talking to him and holding out and hoping he’d look up one day after we’d stopped fucking and see in me the same damn unnameable thing I saw in him. 

That show seriously made me wonder. So I may have looked online at his profile (again) yes I creep on occasion and no I am not proud of it. I guess I hope he’ll get fat and ugly and start posting pictures of his wife and kids, except I don’t think he has any and that makes me both sad and mad at myself for creeping.

I love my husband. I love our family and the life we have together but dreams happen and while I’ll never talk to HIM ever again, he’s still in there somewhere floating around my subconscious like a stick of dynamite ready to blow my damn dreams up in a fit of fast hot naked fucking, and annoyingly with a vague half smile and eyes so damn intense it almost hurts to look at them…damn it 

I can’t control my dreams but if I could would I cut him out or dream him more? My heart screams erase him but my dreams…who knows what the hell  they’re fucking saying.